


Rust and Stardust

by spacestationwedding



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Dark Steve, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Flirting, Force Choking, Lolita, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character Death, POV Steve Rogers, Painful Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Suicide, Teen Crush, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationwedding/pseuds/spacestationwedding
Summary: Steve's an out-of-towner, staying at the Barnes' home while he works on his novel. Little does he know, he's about to embark on simultaneously the best and worst part of his life.His Bucky. The light of his life, sure, but also his downfall.*this is a Lolita AU. Please mind the tags and/or familiarize yourself with the plot a bit before reading*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an incredibly messed up fic, right from the start. If you have ever read/watched Lolita, you'll know it's only gonna get worse. Please mind the tags and just know that it will be fairly troubling. I will do my best to cover these unsavory topics in the right way. 
> 
> Updates will be fairly infrequent- college is really eating up my time. I will be working on this and my other fics in the meantime, don't worry!  
> I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!

There’s a huge possibility that Steve is in over his head. Trusting a complete stranger like this, with his entire life packed in his suitcase- who does this anymore? Yet, he has nowhere else to go unless he wants to stay in the crappy motel down the street. And in a rundown barely-there town in the middle of nowhere, those were less than savory.

And that was why he found himself walking through the front door of Mrs. Winifred Barnes’ (she chattered in his ear about how even though she went by missus, she was widowed and very much single) humble home. Mr. Barnes hadn’t left her with much, she gripes as they walked up the stairs, just the house, their son, and the bittersweet memories.

“Your room will be right here! It’s better than Jimmy’s, poor thing, George decided to keep the nicer room for his office. Hasn’t been used since then, though, so you should find it suitable for your tastes. And the rent’s not bad either, just four hundred a month. Lot nicer than that motel you were lookin’ at, huh?”

Steve thinks to himself that she certainly can talk someone’s ear off. Maybe it’s charming, he can’t really decide. And it can be overlooked considering what a beauty she is, all bright eyes and a plump, lipsticked mouth. He doesn’t think they’ll have much problem getting along.

“Now, I know the bathroom’s a disaster, but you must understand- Jimmy’s my boy, just turned thirteen. You know how boys are at that age, making messes everywhere they walk. Little troublemaker, but just give him a reminder to clean up after himself and it’ll be taken care of.”

When Steve glances into the dingy bathroom, he indeed sees a disaster. Hair products and cologne bottles are knocked over on- and even in- the sink, clothes and damp towels lying on the floor, and small boxers hang from the shower curtain rod.

What catches his eye and makes him pause are the tiny white briefs that drape over the side of the porcelain tub. They look so small, he can’t begin to imagine how they could possibly fit on a teenage boy. Surely the boy- Jimmy, he corrects- would be spilling out of them…

With a shake of his head, he turns from the bathroom to rejoin Winifred on the tour.

After agreeing to stay with them for at least the summer, Winifred gives him a beaming smile and yells up the stairs.

“Jimmy! Get down here and meet Mister Rogers!” Her voice is incredibly loud, immediately punctuated by quick footsteps bounding down the creaky wooden stairs. Steve turns in his uncomfortable chair to greet the boy.

Immediately, his mouth drops open. This boy is _gorgeous._ God, he immediately feels sick for thinking it, but it’s true. He’s got brown hair, like his mother, but it’s lighter and shines with the sunlight streaming in through the windows. His face still has baby fat around the edges, but a clear jawline in the works. Bright blue eyes are darkened by the slight lowering of his lashes. His eyebrows are turned up in innocence, and pouty red lips open in perpetual surprise. The kid has a face like an absolute angel, which is in direct contrast to the lower half of his body.

Jesus, his legs. If his face was innocence, then those legs were the devil themselves. Jimmy is wearing a pair of those little briefs, hardly presentable for company, but Steve wasn’t going to complain. It’s clear now why the underwear he saw upstairs were so small- because their owner is absolutely tiny. His legs are long, slender, and his skin is milky and perfectly smooth. Steve can’t tell if his hair hasn’t grown in thick yet, or if he shaves, and that thought really hammers home how fucked up he is for ogling this teenager.

“I swear, what are you thinkin’, comin’ down here without your pants on- I’m so sorry, honey, Jimmy’s got no sense ‘a decency.”

Winifred interrupts the angels singing in Steve’s head at the sight, and she keeps yapping even after he stops listening. He and Jimmy make eye contact while she keeps talking, and they silently communicate. Steve feels like the boy is analyzing him with those intense eyes, breaking down the thin mask he’s wearing to hide who he really is.

Jimmy’s lips break into a wide smile, looking like the child that he is.

It takes weeks before they actually do something wrong. Up until then, it’s just flirtation on Jimmy’s part. He’s blatant, even doing it in front of his mother sometimes.

He wanders around the house with no shirt on all the time, sometimes wearing nothing but those little briefs. Steve will be writing at his desk, working on his novel, and hear the creak of the hallway floor. When he glances up, Jimmy’s standing there in just his underwear with a knowing smirk adorning his lips.

When he’s sitting at the kitchen table, coffee and his phone in hand, Jimmy will walk in. Fresh out of the shower, his hair is still wet. At least he’s fully clothed when he huffs out a sigh and slides gracefully into Steve’s lap while his mother fusses in the garden. When Jimmy finishes stealing Steve’s bacon and leaves, his shirt has a wet stain on it.

At the dinner table, Jimmy’s making a spectacle of his meal. His plump lips wrap around everything like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted: a fork with bits of chicken, spoons with soup, the length of a green bean, his goddamn straw. And the noises he makes are sinful, like he’s having sex with his food. Steve gets hard to those noises underneath the kitchen table, with Winifred sitting two feet away.

When Steve lies in his bed at night, he mentally replays those moans to bring himself relief from the frustration in between his legs.

It all comes to a head when he’s sitting at his desk, typing away at his computer. It’s late, but he’s got a creative kick going and it’d be a shame to waste it by going to sleep. There’s a telltale creak from the hallway, and he tears his eyes away from his screen to look at the bedroom door.

The kid’s not wearing his usual underwear tease. This time, it’s an oversized sweatshirt that hangs loosely off his frame and brushes his thighs. Steve can’t see if he’s wearing anything on his legs, but that thought alone makes his skin warm.

“Can’t sleep?” He murmurs quietly, so as not to wake the other resident of the house. The look he gives the boy makes it clear that he is fully aware of the game they’re playing. He’s not stupid.

Jimmy nods his head and steps inside. After clicking the door closed, he saunters over to the desk with swaying hips. He’s got his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, ever the picture of innocence. Steve can’t stop looking at those damn legs, so slender and lean as they practically glide over to him. The kid doesn’t ask, or even give him a chance to protest, before he pulls Steve’s desk chair away from his work. Steve is turned, forced to look up at the younger boy’s smirking face.

He knows he should push him away. It’s obvious where this is heading, but the truth is that Steve doesn’t want to stop. This beautiful boy wants him, and knows that he’s got Steve wrapped around his little finger. As long as he doesn’t get caught, surely there’s nothing wrong with giving Jimmy exactly what he wants.

Those legs climb up onto the chair, awkwardly. There’s not much room between Steve’s hips and the arms of the desk chair, but the kid makes it work. He straddles Steve’s lap and immediately places his arms on the back of the chair. When Steve takes in the sight before him, he feels the first coils of loose arousal in his groin. Jimmy arches his back like a girl, like the many women Steve has been with in vain attempts to fill the void his previous love had left in his heart. He doesn’t want to touch, not without permission, so his hands curl around the arms of the chair.

“I don’t like you callin’ me Jimmy,” he murmurs, lips shining with his spit. “Sounds like a little kid name.”

Steve’s entirely focused on those lips, barely listening. He hums in agreement.

“And you aren’t a little kid, are you?”

Jimmy smiles, bright and wide, and shakes his head eagerly.

“Well, what would you like me to call you? James?” He suggests, gasping a little when the boy wriggles around on his lap.

“Ew, no,” he wrinkles his nose adorably. “That’s what everyone’ll wanna call me. Want somethin’ only you and I know.” The last bit is purred low in Steve’s ear. The kid extracts one of his hands to guide Steve’s own to his waist. It’s so small, even for a teenage boy. Steve touches him reverently through the sweatshirt, thinking in awe that he could probably wrap both hands around his waist and touch his fingertips together.

“Hmm. What’s your middle name, then?”

He lets out a thick noise of disgust, making Steve smile. “Buchanan.” Each syllable is emphasized to show his disdain.

“That’s unfortunate,” he agrees. “Let’s think…”

It’s increasingly hard to think of a nickname while those lips lean down to drag wetly over the skin of his neck. The kid seems distracted from their conversation entirely.

An idea strikes him suddenly. “You know, in London- I went there for a few literature classes- they have a slang word. ‘Bucky.’ Means ‘gun.’”

The kid perks up again at that. His big eyes dart over Steve’s face, searching for more.

“I figure that sounds like it could be short for Buchanan, no? And the meaning, too. Doesn’t exactly seem little kiddish or innocent, does it?”

He smiles minutely again. “Bucky.” Tasting the name, trying it out for himself. His finger pokes hard at Steve’s chest. “Say it.”

Steve’s hands slide down to the small curve of his hips, cupping them. He looks up at the boy’s face, murmurs his new name.

“Bucky…”  

There’s that wide smile again, and then his hands cup the line of Steve’s jaw. It’s pretty obvious what he’s going to do, so Steve just closes his eyes and waits.

He kisses like a deer learning to walk. Fumbling and awkward, with his lips moving far too quickly. Right off the bat, his pink little tongue darts out to force Steve’s lips open. It’s sloppy and overwhelming and way too much.

It’s just about the greatest kiss Steve’s ever had.

 


	2. Chapter 2

They don’t do much more than kiss for a long time. Bucky sneaks into Steve’s room just before bed, wearing his skimpiest sleep clothes to tempt him, and then leaves just as soon as Steve’s hands start to wander underneath them. It’s not like he doesn’t want to have sex with Steve- the filth that he whispers in his ear are proof enough.

_ “Touch me, mister. Put your hands where your eyes keep wandering.” _

_ “Don’t these shorts make my butt look good? They’re a little tight, so you can see more of my dick- does that bother you? You can just pretend it’s not there when we fuck, I won’t mind.” _

_ “Please, tell me you’re clean. I don’t wanna haveta deal with a condom, I wanna feel you coming all up inside of me, dirty me up, make me yours, breed me-” _

Steve shakes the memory of those whispers free of his mind when Winifred walks into the kitchen. Her hair’s up rollers, robe more open than usual. She greets him with a brilliant smile and pours herself a cup of the coffee Steve already brewed.

“Morning, darling. I hope you don’t any plans today, because Jimmy and I are dragging you out to the lake. Oh, don’t make that face, you’ll love it, it’s so gorgeous out there. Plenty of fresh air and space for you to work,  _ if you insist, _ just bring along that notebook you’ve always got your nose in.” She finishes with a wink, but Steve’s not looking at her anymore. Bucky just walked in, sleep rumpled and soft. Behind his mother’s back, he blows Steve a red kiss.

They go to the lake, in the beat-up blue truck Winifred had bought at auction last year. Bucky sits in the back, those incredible legs propped up on Steve’s headrest. Occasionally, the terrible struts in the truck make the vehicle jostle so much that his bare feet smack right into Steve’s face, making them both laugh. Winifred scolds him and tells him to get his feet down, but he doesn’t listen. 

Once at the lake, Steve immediately sits in the bed of the pickup and pulls out his notebook. Sure, he’s brought it so that he could get some work done, but as he flips to the next blank page he realizes that’s going to be impossible. Winifred takes off her coverup to reveal the red two piece she’d been wearing underneath-  _ subtle _ , Steve mentally rolls his eyes. She won’t be the distraction keeping Steve from his writing. After seeing Bucky dangling his feet into the water as he lays lazily on the splintered wood of the dock, hair shining in the sunlight, pale and soft belly on display, arms stretched out at his sides- it’s clear Steve isn’t going to get any work done. How he longs to approach him, to lean down and lay kisses all over the concavity of his stomach. All Bucky would have to do is nod and Steve would absolutely take the opportunity to strip him down right there. He wishes he could lay kisses along the insides of those milky white thighs, taste the sweetness of his skin and inhale the pure, untainted smell of his newly developed privates.

He knows he’s absolutely fucked in the head, but it’s hard to feel guilty for being in love. 

So rather than write like he planned on doing, he starts sketching the scene before him. Bucky’s face turns, and they make eye contact, but Steve keeps on sketching with big, swooping strokes. They silently communicate, like they always do, and Bucky realizes that Steve’s drawing him. He smiles over his shoulder, looking like a dame from some 50’s bluesie mag. Once Steve is satisfied with his preliminary sketch, he closes the book to finish the details later. Bucky stands up, still grinning, then turns and runs along the length of the dock. At the last second, he jumps off the edge and into the water with a huge splash. 

Steve watches as he swims back to shore. When he stands up to wade out of the water, he can only see the smoothness of Bucky’s skin underneath the glisten of the water droplets clinging to him. His hair is dark now, lying flat against his scalp. Rubbing water out of his eyes, he runs back up to the truck while Steve drinks it all in. 

Once they’re close enough to whisper without being overheard, Bucky lets out what he’d no doubt been dying to say.

“I got all wet for you, mister, see? You like seeing me wet, don’t you? I bet sometime you’d like to get me dripping yourself.”

Winifred fans herself while she sunbathes, completely unaware of the growing hardness in Steve’s pants.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The first time is everything to Steve. He knows he loves Bucky, even if they don’t say things like that. Once they get a chance to be together, it’s easy to show his feelings physically. 

His mother leaves town for the day, wanting to shop in the bigger nearby city. As soon as Bucky waves goodbye to her, he slams the front door shut and turns to Steve. With a huge grin on his face, he yanks his tank top over his head and jumps into Steve’s arms. 

They kiss like they normally do for a long time, but when Steve’s fingertips wriggle underneath the fabric of Bucky’s little white briefs, he isn’t pushed away. 

Bucky’s body is so sweet, small and pliant underneath him. Once Steve gets his first look at his naked body, he knows everyone else will be absolutely ruined for him. Running his fingers over the delicate skin of Bucky’s already hardened length, his smooth testicles, and the swollen perineum, Steve can tell he’s shaved down there for him. It makes him look younger then he is, not that Steve necessarily wants him to. Bucky would be perfect for him no matter what his age is, he’s sure of that. Bucky sneaks a hand under his pillow, grabs an unopened bottle of lubricant. Pressing it firmly into Steve’s hand, he settles back against the pillows and spreads his long legs as wide as they’ll go. Steve takes his time opening his boy up, waiting for him to whine and cry out before crawling back up. As he slowly deflowers the younger one, he presses one long kiss against his pretty red lips. High, desperate whines are sounding quietly behind Bucky’s mouth. There’s pain, he knows, there must be pain. It feels too good to stop, though, and maybe all that Bucky needs is to work through it. So he keeps pressing forward and ruining the innocence of the boy below him. There’s something like guilt in the back of his mind, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the pleasure of the impossible tightness around his cock. 

He moves slow, but that isn’t enough for his sweetheart. 

“C’mon, mister, that all you got for me? Thought you wanted to fuck me-  _ ohh-” _ His words are choked off by the moan he lets out when Steve snaps his hips and re-enters his little hole smoothly. It’s almost cute, how inexperienced he is. He doesn’t know how intense sex really is, and yet he’s asking to have it all right off the bat. Steve kisses up the column of that pale neck, rolling his hips sinuously to gain that hot friction on his cock. 

Steve’s hips are almost too wide to fit in between Bucky’s legs, but he makes do. Enraptured, he watches every single reaction that Bucky has when he thrusts back in. The little gasps. The hand that slowly trails up his stomach and chest. How his eyes are squeezed shut and that damn bottom lip is chewed nearly bloody. The other hand that reaches down to grip Steve’s own ass, pushing to try and keep him inside. 

Steve notices other things, too. How his skin reflects even paler in the direct sunlight from the open window, perfectly complementing the white sheets he’s writhing around on. The way his hair falls back from his face with the rocking movement. Bucky’s body, the shape of him, is long and sinewy, like a tempting nymph in a Greek myth.

A nymphet. 

Steve throws his head back and groans, relishing in the feeling of Bucky’s blunt nails raking down his back. Dropping onto his elbows, he allows their fronts to be plastered together, slick with sweat. He takes care not to crush the other, given their considerable size difference. Bucky’s hard little cock is pulsing against both of their stomachs. His tight heat is clenching down rhythmically on Steve’s length, and at this point, he can’t even bring himself to pull out more than a couple of inches. Just rolling, feeling his sweetheart all around him. 

He thinks that seeing Bucky fall apart into his first orgasm at the hands of another person is the final nail in his coffin. 

They barely make it an hour after the first time before Bucky wants to go again. He pulls out all of the cliche seduction techniques he knows: biting his lip, dropping things on purpose and bending to pick them up, standing in front of Steve a good six inches shorter than him and looking up through thick eyelashes. 

Steve lays him on the bed and tastes him, all of him, for the first time. 

They are wrapped up in each other all day, parting only when they hear the crunch of the old pickup truck in the driveway. Afterwards,  Steve thinks that once he’s gotten a piece of Bucky, he’ll never be able to let go. Being his first isn’t enough for him.

He wants to be the first, the last, and the only person to touch James Barnes.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The summer is nearly over. Steve doesn’t know why it’s gone by so quickly, but it has, and he’s not sure whether or not it’s time for him to move on. On the one hand, he is supposed to move out- he and Winifred confirmed him staying only during the summer, and a tentative “we’ll see” for any time after that. On the other, he doesn’t want to leave behind the love of his life.

He thinks Winifred confuses his love-struck gazes to be aimed in her direction, and not her son’s. 

“Tell me, darling, don’t you find it a bit impractical for you to move all the way to the other side of town?” She bats her eyelids at him over dinner. Bucky’s hand is creeping along the inside of his thigh under the table, but she’s none the wiser. 

“I suppose it is,” Steve folds up the classifieds section of the newspaper, the one with houses for rent on the opposite side of the admittedly small town and huffs. “I just don’t want to impose any more than I already have.”

“Oh, honey, you’re no imposition! Havin’ you here has been nothing but good for us, isn’t that right Jimmy?”

Bucky smirks at him and nods eagerly. His fingers wrap around the plumping length of Steve’s cock under his pants.

If she only knew just how “good” it had been.

“Well, I just wonder what the neighbors will be thinking of you taking in a tenant like me long term.” He flirts a little, feeling emboldened. Might as well use her obvious attraction to his own advantage. “Could be talk of you getting remarried.”

She instantly perks up at that. 

“Well, that might not be so bad, would it?” Her fingertips trace along the stem of her wine glass, nails as red as the liquid inside. 

“No,” he agrees. “It would not.”

Beside him, Bucky goes entirely still. For a moment, Winifred just smiles at Steve. He forces himself to return it. Suddenly, Bucky’s fingernails dig into the sensitive skin of his cock, making him gasp in pain.  

He quickly stands up, knocking his chair to the floor with a clatter. Without picking it back up, he sprints up out of the room and up the stairs. There’s the faint sound of a door slamming. 

Winifred sighs while Steve is still grimacing in pain and shock. 

“Sorry about him, doll. Don’t think he’s gonna be liking us talking like this too much. Still misses his pa.” She leans in and grasps one of his hands in her own. “He’ll come around, in time.”

Turns out, “in time” takes only a month. But for that time span, Bucky refuses to talk to Steve. Steve and Winifred get married, after realizing their overwhelming affection for one another. At least no one knows how one sided it really is. 

Steve performs as he is required to on the wedding night, feeling somehow sicker about making “love” to her than he had with her son. At least he has a viable excuse to wear a condom with her, since she hadn’t been on birth control since her previous husband died. After they consummate their marriage and Winifred finally goes to sleep, Steve goes to his office to relieve some of his frustrations in his notebook. 

As he walks past Bucky’s bedroom, he notices that the door is open. Small gasps and bitten back moans reach his ears, and he knows that he shouldn’t look, but he does. 

Bucky’s laying on his bed, the moonlight casting a blue shadow across his naked skin. His legs are splayed open wide, two wet fingers buried inside himself and two rubbing at the head of his cock. 

His eyes are locked with Steve’s. 

“C’mere and close the door,  _ daddy _ .” 

Steve’s heart starts pounding in his chest at that name. He hadn’t even thought that was something he’d be interested in, but fuck, coming from Bucky’s mouth, anything could get him going. Even though he just came, he wants so badly to be between those sinful legs.

He swallows and does as he’s told. It’s riskier now; if Winifred wakes up and doesn’t find him in bed, she might come looking for him. Might find him in bed with her son. 

“I can call you that now, right? Since you married my mom?” Bucky removes his hands from himself, rolls over on his thin twin bed and arches his back. “Did you fuck her yet?”

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs exasperatedly. 

“Yes, daddy?”

He knows he shouldn’t, but he climbs onto the bed and straddles Bucky’s thighs. His hands immediately reach out to touch his back and arms and his ass, just feeling the softness of his skin. He leans down to drop a wet kiss on Bucky’s earlobe. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers apologetically. 

Bucky sighs and drops his face into the pillow.

“Just fuck me, you perv.”

It’s probably the closest thing to forgiveness that he’ll get. Again, he does as he’s told. It’s just the same as it always is, but this time when Steve’s about to come, Bucky leans back and whispers filthily in his ear. 

“Come in me, daddy.” 

Surprised, he does. This time provides much better relief than it had an hour ago. 

As Steve’s getting re dressed for bed, Bucky stands with his hands on his hips. He doesn’t look intimidating at all, five-foot-six and skinny and naked as he is. Still, he fixes Steve with a mean glare.

“You wear a condom with her.”

Steve drops a kiss on his lips.

“I’m not going to be with her ever again.”

Bucky harrumphs, pushes on Steve’s chest until he’s in the hallway. Steve hears the turn of a lock when the bedroom door is closed. 

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Steve hates being married. He doesn’t mean it in the way most men do- “the ol’ ball and chain, she’s always right, kiss goodbye to your freedom” cliches. He genuinely hates his wife.

It was different when they just lived together. At least then he had his privacy and could work in peace. Now, she wants to do  _ everything  _ together: work, shop, eat, sleep, shower. It’s infuriating.

When he’s sitting at his desk, trying to get some work done, she’s there. Sitting in his lap, peering over his shoulder, or perched on top of his desk. He ignores her as best he can before it’d be considered rude, but she is relentless.

When he’s in the shower, hand wrapped around himself and thoughts of Bucky swirling in his head, she sneaks in. 

Eventually, he thinks to repair the broken lock on the bathroom door. 

They don’t have sex for as long as he can get away with. He goes through every excuse in the book- 

_ “The condoms expired, dear.”  _

_ “I’m not feeling well- did that soup seem a little off to you?” _

_ “Let me just finish this paragraph and I’ll come to bed in a minute.” _

That one’s his favorite; after an hour or two he’ll go back downstairs and find his wife passed out on their bed, too tired from waiting up for him. 

Bucky has to go back to school as well- eighth grade. The thought is almost more startling to Steve than his age. He doesn’t think he can even remember being in middle school, what with that being twelve years ago. It’s truly inconvenient that the love of his life is far too young for him. Yet, he can’t bring himself to stop loving him.

The start of school means that Bucky isn’t home as much- but that leaves time for Steve to work even more. Goofing off over the summer hasn’t exactly left him much time before his deadline. 

“Why don’t you pay more attention to me?” Winifred pouts. She sits heavily into Steve’s lap, right in between his desk and the chair. It’s blocking his view and preventing him from working. 

He sighs and sits back in his chair heavily. 

“Well, I’ve been trying to work.” It comes out snappier than he initially meant. 

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” How could she manage to push her bottom lip even further out? 

“Like what? Like I’m constantly being interrupted?” He picks her up by the waist easily and sets her back down so she’s standing a few feet away. Sliding back into place at his desk, he tries to refocus. Winifred huffs and turns heel out of the office. 

And that was just the first notable incident. Bucky was there for one of them even, sitting at the kitchen table while they have a row about Steve’s disinterest in their marriage. He’s smirking behind his mother’s back, sipping soda casually with his lips wrapped around a bright pink straw.

That night, after Bucky has gone to sleep and the fight continued, Steve is so fed up with hearing her shrill insecurities that he takes a walk to calm down. He remembers that Bucky was almost out of the strawberry body spray he likes so much, the one that makes him “smell like a goddamn snack, Daddy, go on, smell it. Dontcha wanna just eat me with a spoon?” It’s a simple enough errand to run, and at least it would put him in the good graces of the only person in that house that actually mattered. He goes down to the pharmacy and grabs the spray, alongside the sour candies Bucky favored and a six pack of Buds for himself. Popping a few of the candies in his mouth, he starts the walk back home. Hopefully Winifred will have cooled off by then. 

She certainly has cooled off. When he finds her lying on the floor in the bathroom, her skin is icy to the touch. 

He dials 911 and goes upstairs to make sure Bucky didn’t see her lying there, empty pill bottle still in hand.

After answering the police officer’s questions, providing proof of his power of attorney for parental rights and carrying the sobbing, recently orphaned child to the car, Steve finally realizes they have no choice but to go to the shitty motel. As they drive, Bucky lets out huge, heaving wails of pain that break Steve’s heart. He’s suddenly glad that he’d accidentally brought the plastic bag from the pharmacy, already craving the alcohol that would take him out of his own head for a while. 

The motel isn’t cheap, but they hopefully won’t have to stay for very long. He buys one night and makes sure to get two twin beds. The front desk clerk looks alarmed at Bucky’s tear-streaked face and the quiet sobs he continued to let out. 

“His ma just died,” Steve murmurs low enough that Bucky couldn’t hear. Best to quell the curiosity before it killed someone’s cat. “I’m the only family he’s got left.”

Sympathetically, with a tilted head bob, she hands over their room key. 

Immediately, Bucky darts into the tiny en-suite bathroom. The door slams shut behind him, but that does nothing to block out the broken sounds of him gasping for breath between sobs. Steve sits heavily on the bed furthest from the bathroom and cracks open his first can of beer. Several minutes pass as he drinks, hoping it won’t take long to get a good buzz going. 

Eventually, Bucky comes out again. His face is red and splotchy, nose even redder from where he’d been wiping it. He’s still wearing his pajamas, the thin flannel bottoms and oversized sweatshirt. The sleeves just barely leave his fingertips uncovered. 

He’s still beautiful to Steve. 

They stare at each other for a while, until Bucky finally moves to the bed. Not the empty one right next to him, but the one on the other side of the room, currently occupied by Steve. He drops right into Steve’s lap, snatches the beer away and takes a swig. Steve laughs halfheartedly at the disgusted face Bucky makes. 

“It’s your fault,” Bucky turns to fully straddle his thighs. He sounds casual, unbothered. Guess all of his emotions were expelled through his earlier tears. “She killed herself ‘cause ‘a you. You made her miserable.”

Steve is indignant at first, but the more he thinks about it the more sense that makes. There was nothing else wrong with Winifred’s life, except the constant bickering and lack of romance in their marriage. He’d never think that she would resort to such an extreme, however. 

“I didn’t love her,” he justifies, looking up into Bucky’s red-rimmed eyes. “She wanted to be with me and so I gave her that. But I couldn’t pretend that she was the one lighting the passion in my heart, because that’s you.”

He knows he sounds like a sappy fiction writer, but that’s fair. That’s exactly what he is. 

Bucky takes another drink, studying him carefully. 

“You’ll treat me right.”

It’s not a question at all, but a statement with wavering confidence. Steve answers anyway.

“Like a king.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky doesn’t want to go back to school. That doesn’t exactly sit well with Steve at first, so Bucky barters his way out of it. Steve ends up making the call to withdraw Bucky from the school while those pouty lips are wrapped around the base of his cock. 

They leave the motel three days after arriving and don’t look back. 

Steve has snagged an atlas from the motel lobby and drives wherever Bucky tells him. Aptly childish, he only picks the funniest and silliest names of towns and cities: Worms, Nebraska; Beer Bottle Crossing, Idaho; Santa Claus, Indiana. They go everywhere and stay for as long as it takes to get bored. He wants to go to the ocean, he says. Steve doesn’t point out that New York has a coastline, they lived only an hour away from it. Time seems to be the only thing healing the broken mess Winifred left of her son’s heart.

There’s nothing quite like looking over to the passenger seat of the truck and seeing Bucky with his long, shorts-clad legs up on the dash, scuffed Chuck Taylors leaving dirt behind. He’s started shaving his legs, which Steve definitely doesn’t mind. Occasionally, he will reach out and run his hand along the smooth length of that left thigh, just to feel it. Bucky will smile at him, jerk his head so his mom’s abandoned sunglasses fall from his forehead to his eyes, and slide his own hand over Steve’s so he couldn’t move it away. 

They also make a point to “christen” every state they pass through. Every time, they become more familiar with each other, more confident, more suited to one another’s tastes. What started as a condescending jab turned into the only name that fell from Bucky’s lips: “Daddy.” As it turns out, they both like it. Bucky gains confidence, becomes even more cocky and seductive. He explores his own limits as well as Steve’s, going so far as to ask Steve to film him bouncing on his cock. They have to delete it immediately after watching it, but damn, Steve wishes he could keep that image in his head forever. 

Several months pass. No responsibilities, no nuisances or cares beyond the obvious: getting caught. It’s bliss. Just the two of them driving aimlessly and constantly in each other’s company.

Yet, there are moments that make Steve question. There’s the time Bucky wants to drive, so desperately. They’ve just eaten dinner at some truck stop diner and gotten back to the car. Steve’s already told him no twice.

“I’m fourteen now,” he reasons, whining and begging. “C’mon, Daddy, please? I’ll be real careful, promise, just lemme try. C’mon, please, please, please, please-”

“The fact that you’re begging like a four-year-old oughta tell you why I’m about to let you drive this car. Now shut the fuck up and leave it alone.” His voice is edged with that no-nonsense tone all parents develop after a while.

Bucky gapes at him, clearly at a loss for words. Steve starts the car and goes to put it in gear. He thinks he’s won, that Bucky’s really going to drop it, until-

“Can’t really say I ain’t old enough,” he snarks suddenly. “You know if I was begging for your dick instead you’d give it to me in a heartbeat, doesn’t matter that I’m fourteen.”

“Don’t,” Steve holds a hand up in warning. Bucky keeps going.

“So you think I’m old enough for you to stick your dick in but not enough to drive a car? Y’know, that’s not surprising. Fucking pervert like you would think backwards like that.”

It’s not rational, to go from listening to the insults to striking Bucky across the face. If he were on the outside looking in, he would think that the man in the driver’s seat was an asshole. And maybe he is an asshole, but he isn’t really thinking beyond the insults. 

He adores Bucky so much, but he can’t handle being called what he truly is. So he instinctively slaps the boy across the cheek, effectively silencing him. The shocked look on his face makes too much sense for him to feel guilty right away.

Without looking at him anymore, he starts up the car and drives. 

They sit in a stony silence, and when Steve looks over he sees the steady stream of tears down Bucky’s cheeks. Guilt sits low in his stomach, making him nervous. 

Making up doesn’t come until the next night, when they stop at a hotel. Steve corners him while he’s in the bathroom, with his biggest puppy dog eyes and low, soothing voice. It takes some convincing, but Bucky eventually allows him to hold him in his arms while they sleep. It’s the younger one who initiates the first kiss in the middle of the night, sleep soft and pliant. He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and uses the leverage to rock them together. After they both come, quiet and breathless, he flops back over to his side of the bed. Steve leans in, murmurs low for the first time:  _ “I love you.”  _ Bucky’s already asleep. 

Sometimes Steve wonders if he’s making a mistake, dragging this child across the country. He could have a future, if he went to a nice school and maybe met a nice guy and got a good job. But that’s just it; it’d all be just  _ nice _ . Steve wants him to have more, genuine happiness and all of the world at his feet and limitless possibilities. Already a familiar traveler of the traditional routes, he knows it ends badly when you don’t live in the moment. He regrets not living every moment like it’s his last, taking advantage of every second he had with...her. And he truly loves Bucky, and even though they don’t express that sentiment ever, he knows Bucky loves him too. Why else would he allow himself in this situation, this relationship? It’s not like Steve’s been forcing him into it. 

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Steve doesn’t notice the man following them at first. It’s only when he glances in the rearview and sees the sleek, black Lincoln- a rarity in the dusty Nevada desert- two Tuesdays in a row that he realizes. Bucky’s got his mouth busy in Steve’s lap, suckling lazily to keep his length warm. Steve pulls on his hair gently, slowly, to move him off. 

“Move back to your side, then sit up,” he instructs calmly. Bucky looks up at him, debauched with wide eyes and spit slick lips. “Do as I say, baby, go on.”

When Bucky’s sitting up in his seat once more, he looks over to Steve with a pout. “Was it- did I do bad? I’m sor-”

“No. You were doing very well.” He smiles reassuringly. “Look in the mirror- you see that car behind us?” Bucky nods. “They’ve been following us.”

They come up with a plan. 

  1. Stop for gas. 
  2. Steve will go in to pay by himself.
  3. “And buy me some candy, daddy, I’m goin’ through sugar withdrawals.”
  4. If and when the person following them stops as well, Bucky will strike up a conversation and find out what the hell they want.



“Put all that charm to good use,” he teases. “But don’t you dare flirt, y’hear?”

Bucky just smiles knowingly and nods. 

The next gas station doesn’t have the sour candy Bucky likes, so he gets the sickly sweet stuff instead. He watches from the candy aisle as Bucky gets out of the car and leans against it, fanning himself with the magazine he’d picked up in Nebraska. The black Lincoln pulls up and an older, non-threatening-looking man steps out. He’s pointedly not looking at Bucky or the truck until Bucky calls out. 

“Real nice car you got there, mister.”

He’s drawling in an exaggeration of his small town, New York accent, and Steve can barely hear his words through the walls of the gas station. The man turns, looks Bucky up and down, with his legs in tiny shorts and his shirtsleeves rolled past his shoulders to combat the heat. He says something with a grin that makes Bucky laugh, then shake his head. The store clerk clears her throat at Steve, making him aware of the fact that he’s been motionless for too long. He steps up, places the candy, an impulsive soda and crumpled cash on the counter and asks her for a pack of Marlboro reds, a lighter, and fifteen dollars on pump three. 

She sighs and begrudgingly checks out all of his items. 

Steve watches as Bucky wraps up the conversation, and the man enters the building. He’s wearing a suit, oddly enough, and has greying blond hair and a tanned, wrinkled face. They make eye contact, until the clerk holds out a plastic bag and bids him a halfhearted good day. He takes his leave and hurries back to the car. 

“Get in,” he commands Bucky. “If we hurry, maybe we can lose him.”

As soon as they’re in the car, Bucky makes grabby hands at the shopping bag until Steve hands it over. His eyes widen at the cigarettes. 

“These for me, too?” He jokes, pulling them out. 

“Sure.” Steve agrees easily. He peels away from the gas station, creating a cloud of dust as they rejoin the main road. It takes Bucky an amusing several times to flick the lighter properly, and he initially puts the cig in his mouth the wrong way, but he eventually takes a tiny puff. 

“What’d he say?” Steve demands. 

“Asked if I was a hooker.” He giggles, takes a shaky drag of the cigarette and plops his feet up on the dash. “Didn’t ask about you at all.”

“Did he say where he’s going?” Steve cracks Bucky’s window open to let the smoke out.

“LA. Says he’s in the entertainment industry.” He makes a sour face, plucks the cigarette from between his lips and studies it. “This is disgusting. I love it.”

Steve sighs and lights his own smoke, glancing behind them to see if the man had caught up. No sign so far. It seems they’re in the clear. 

They stay the night at the second motel they see, hoping that would help keep them being followed.


	8. Chapter 8

They’re at some beat-down motel (not a novel experience for them) in Northern California. Right on the coast, just like Bucky had wanted. It’s mid-August, so the northern chill hasn’t settled in quite yet. Just the opposite, in fact: the heat is nearly oppressive. There’s a dock, overlooking the Pacific, that Bucky loves laying in near-nudity across. He bought sunscreen at Steve’s request, to preserve his pristine, creamy-white skin. 

“Ain’t got good skin,” he grumbles, tossing the bottle of sunblock into the shopping basket. “Got blackheads on my nose, look.”

Steve squints, but he can’t see any flaws. 

It seems they’ve arrived at the end. One long, cross-country trip and Bucky’s ready to settle down, right there in that crappy motel with tacky seashells embedded in the walls. Steve doesn’t mind, as long as he has Bucky by his side. He goes into town, asks around if anyone is currently hiring. He needs a job, since his savings are quickly running out after supporting them for months on the road. After all, his novel hasn’t been touched since the day of Winifred’s death. 

The library hires him to run the checkout desk. He’s only interested in the fact that the starting pay isn’t minimum wage.

So he works. Bucky stays home, laying out on the dock and waiting around (for you, Daddy, of course); when Steve gets home, they go through the same routine. Eat dinner. Run to the store- whether it’s necessary or not. Return home. Fuck lazily. Sleep. Wake. Breakfast. Steve goes to work while Bucky stares over the water.

It’s terribly domestic. 

One day, he’s driving home from the library, exhausted and irritable. All he can think about is falling into bed with Bucky, his body sun-warm and soft and small.

Except he sees a black Lincoln pull out of the driveway of the motel just as he’s pulling in. 

He does a double-take, simultaneous anger and fear pounding in his ears. How the hell did he find them? Bucky had said he was going to LA- that was why they’d changed course. Bucky said….

Then it hits him.  _ Bucky said.  _

He quickly enters the motel room, finds Bucky sprawled out on the armchair with his phone in hand. Just to scare him and let him know he was in trouble, Steve slams the door closed and throws the keys down onto the table. Immediately, his big blue eyes get even bigger. 

“What’s wrong?” He sounds entirely too innocent.

“You little shit.” Steve strides over, places his hands on the arms of the chair, effectively caging the boy in. “Who the fuck is he, really? The fuck did you tell him?”

Their faces are mere inches apart, and even though Steve is pissed...he wants. He wants so badly to just  _ take _ . Anything to get rid of the smugness and carefree attitude the boy always exudes. 

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. You know I wouldn’t hurt you.” Bucky doesn’t look scared, just infuriatingly amused, even as he lies through his teeth. 

“Swear to god.” Steve breathes. “Swear, if you fucking told him about us, I’m gonna kill you.”

The way he says it, it could just be an expression...or he could be serious. He doesn’t even know how he meant it himself. 

Bucky knows. He sees right through Steve, knows what he truly means, and closes the distance between their lips quickly. Wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist, he latches on with his body and doesn’t let go.

The fact that he’s lying and thinks he can fix it by spreading his legs only pisses Steve off more. He picks Bucky up by his round little bottom and carries him to the bed a few feet away. While remaining fully clothed, he carelessly rips off the only article of clothing Bucky’s been wearing: his slutty, tiny shorts. Heart pounding in his ears, he undoes his pants and pulls his cock out, stroking it and watching Bucky open his long legs wide to get himself to full hardness. 

Bucky’s eyes widen wonderfully, satisfyingly, when he feels the blunt tip of Steve’s cock prod at his unprepared, dry entrance. He tries to sit up, starts to make a noise of protest. Steve quickly wraps his hand around Bucky’s throat, forces him back down. He can hear the air get caught in his esophagus, and he hates himself for loving it so much. 

He presses his hips forward, using his free hand to hold his cock steady. There’s so much resistance, and then an incredible moment of give. Bucky’s hole finally allows him in, stretching all at once as he forces his way in. Still, it’s so fucking tight, gripping him like a vice.

A high noise of pain sounds from below- he doesn’t think, just  _ acts- _ so he presses harder on Bucky’s throat to silence him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He growls. “Just fucking _ shut up.” _

He fucks, rough and quick. It hurts him too, the friction of their dry skin. But at least he isn’t in tears over it, isn’t scrabbling with his nails in the other’s skin. There’s no pleasure, no build up of arousal and heat in his gut. So he’s almost surprised when he orgasms- no, he doesn’t orgasm. It’s just an ejaculation. He doesn’t even feel it, or realize it’s happened until he looks down and sees the mess of come around his cock still sliding in and out of Bucky. Even sicker, it’s tinged with red. 

His cock doesn’t soften. There’s still the urge to fucking ruin the boy-  _ the boy- _ below him. But he pulls out, just because it’s too much. He forces his hand around his throat to unclench, worried until he hears the gasp for air. Heavily, he sits on the bed next to Bucky, still spread out across the mattress.

A few seconds pass. Bucky quickly sits up, wincing in pain. Steve’s sure he’s going to run away, call the police,  _ something.  _

He plops heavily into Steve’s lap, wraps his arms around his neck, grins impossibly wide, and smacks a loud kiss on his cheek. 


	9. Chapter 9

Steve decides to leave once more. Whoever that man was couldn’t follow them forever. As long as his little brat stops talking to him, they’d be fine. 

Bucky asks to stop at gas stations, convenience stores, rest stops. Steve agrees, then passes one or two before actually pulling in to one., in case the nearest was actually a rendezvous point. Bucky sits with his phone on silent and typing occasionally. When he goes to the bathroom in one rest stop, Steve snips the exposed wires of his crappy phone charger. 

Of course he loves Bucky. He just doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him. If only Bucky understood that Steve is just trying to protect him. Whoever this man is, he’s clearly some sick fuck that wants to take advantage of Bucky’s naivety. 

It would take Steve years to realize the irony of that thought. 

They stop at a train-station-turned-rest-stop in Montana. Despite the cold, Bucky’s wearing shorts and a tank top, although he is drowning in an oversized Carhartt coat that falls just above his knees. He looks adorable, gorgeous with his nose and cheeks red from the cold and looking small in his huge coat. 

There’s no one around to see them. The truck is parked behind the building, and there are no windows at the back. Bucky grins in that charmingly predatory way that he has and stalks over to Steve as he’s exiting the truck. Their lips meet, chilled in the icy air. Bucky immediately moans and opens his mouth to lick Steve’s open. He can’t keep his hands to himself, not after seeing Bucky’s smooth, toned legs in tiny shorts and his combat boots. Steve grabs at the roundness of his ass, loving the sharp gasp that Bucky lets out. 

“Wanna fuck,” Bucky whispers thickly against his lips. “C’mon, daddy. We been drivin’ for days, don’tcha miss fuckin’ me? Please, daddy, want ya filling my ass up-”

Steve turns and strides to the rest stop, heading right for the bathroom door. 

He pulls those slutty shorts down to around Bucky’s ankles, guides him to lean over the sink, slicks up his cock and shoves right in. After the first time when Steve was incredibly pissed at him, Bucky’s been loving getting fucked with little to no preparation. Says it reminds him of how taboo and fucked up their relationship is.  

Steve ruts up into him for as long as he can stand before he gets impatient, then yanks Bucky’s hair to get him to arch his back. It pulls a cry from the boy, either from the pain of having his hair pulled or the pleasure of the change in angle. Still, Bucky keeps his hands wrapped around the cracked porcelain sink. The mirror’s a little grimy, but he still looks sinful in his reflection. 

“Look at yourself,” Steve grunts out. “Look at your pretty face while I fuck you.”

Bucky obeys, but his face twists from pleasure to something unidentifiable mixed in. His big blue eyes go half-lidded as he moans louder.

“See how much you like it?” Steve taunts, out of breath from the movement of his hips. “Bet you didn’t realize how much of a slut you are at the end of the day, huh?”

From there, Bucky’s eyes are squeezed shut. No amount of talk or fucking will get them to open again. 

Once they both release- Steve with a low groan and Bucky with a quiet whimper- it’s time to move on. They’ve already been here long enough. Steve’s got a tell-tale spot of lubricant on the bottom of his shirt, probably from wiping Bucky’s abused hole clean of its sloppiness.

“You go pick out what you want from the store. ‘M gonna clean up and meet you in there, okay?”

Bucky nods and turns to leave, but stops at the last second. They just look at each other, this odd couple, while Bucky hesitates. He quickly turns and throws his arms around Steve’s neck, having to stand on his tiptoes to reach. 

There’s no kiss, just a tight embrace, but Steve knows what he’s trying to say. He smiles and goes back to cleaning up while the kid struts out of the shitty rest stop bathroom. 

When he goes into the main area of the rest stop, where the cashier is focusing on the TV like it contains the answers to the universe, he doesn’t see Bucky. Matter of fact, he doesn’t see anyone. He peers through the window, thinking maybe Bucky went outside for a smoke or something. But there’s no one outside either. 

“Hey,” he gets the cashiers attention with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “You see where my kid went? He’s supposed to be here waiting for me.”

“Nah,” the cashier grunts, leaning forward on his rickety stool. “Checked him out, then he left in a real hurry, sayin’ somethin’ about, ‘I’m gonna miss ‘im.’ Figured he meant you were gonna leave him behind.”

Steve realizes where he must have gone. He turns to run outside, but then whirls once more on the cashier, and asks:

“What did he buy?”

The cashier huffs out a laugh, then gestures to the little rack of keychains on the desk next to him. 

“I thought it was real odd, kid like ‘at buying a keychain for a damn nice Lincoln car. Don’t see too many ‘a those around here.” 

  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

He looks for the Lincoln everywhere he goes. A part of him almost expects to see cop cars flashing red and blue behind him as well. The kid probably sold him out, as much as he hates to think it. 

It fills his dreams too. The image of Bucky, red lips smirking as he points the cops in Steve’s direction. Sometimes he wakes with sweat soaking his sheets and the urge to run away from whatever motel he’s staying in this time. 

But the more time passes, the less he thinks that someone is pursuing him. Nowhere does he see his picture or name on the news, no one is asking if you’ve seen this man. Still, he decides to grow out his facial hair, to hopefully disguise himself a little. Besides, he doesn’t think he could really maintain the clean-cut appearance he’s always had, not anymore. 

He really sickens himself. What he did with Bucky wasn’t that bad- it was consensual. That’s really the thought he holds onto; Bucky wanted it. Maybe the law didn’t agree with it, but he couldn’t really be too concerned with that anymore. It’s not the sex and defiling of a child- of a teenager- that disgusts him. It’s the way he treated the love of his life. He’d only wanted to love Bucky and make him feel good. How had it all gone so wrong? Had he really gotten so bad Bucky felt the need to leave?

He wishes the man had kidnapped Bucky against his will, and if that doesn’t make him feel worse than he already does….

Still, he can’t bring himself to move on. He’s gotten used to living out of the car, eating carryout pizzas and the occasional sour candy. The sugar on the skin of his fingers tastes like Bucky’s lips and he- 

He hates himself. 

He can’t bear to give up looking. It was a kidnapping is what it was- and if he trusted Bucky to not spill the beans to the police if they got involved, he would have already put in the missing persons report. Instead, he looks over the States, retracing their steps. Every gas station he stops at, he asks.  _ ‘He’s about five-four, brown hair- here, I got a picture-” _

It takes so long for the light to finally reach his eyes once more.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters today, since the previous one was so short. If you missed it, be sure and go back! Enjoy!

His old neighbor calls. Screeches into the line: “Ya got some mail ‘ere. Never changed ya address, I suppose? The current owners ‘a old Winnie’s house keep tellin’ me they’re gettin’ your letters, so I told ‘em I’d take care of it. Got one from little Bucky too- guess he’s a grown up now, huh? Finally flew the coop?”

He arranges for the mail to be sent to the apartment he’s renting out. 

The letter comes from New York. The address, thanks to a quick Google search, is an apartment on the Upper East side. 

_ Steve, _

_ How have you been? I gotta be honest, I’m not sure how to talk to you after everything. Are you mad at me? You must have been at first, but I’m hoping time has made it better. Five years. A lot’s changed.  _

_ I’m married now. It was pretty quick, I admit. But Natasha’s amazing, she helped me get away from Pierce. You know him, right? You know what happened? If you don’t- well, write me back. I can’t explain it all now. _

_ I don’t blame you. Pierce pulled me in, and I wanted out. He manipulated me, for a long time. But Nat and I were both there, we both got out. I love her, and I hope you can appreciate her as much as I do.  _

_ We’re having a baby, too. It’s pretty early, so we just found out. I’m nervous, and I guess this is why I’m writing to you. You’re the closest thing I have to a father, as messed up as that is. I know that’s not how you think of me, but it’s been a real long time. Maybe I want to have you in my family, too. Maybe that’s wrong. You can tell me what you think, yeah? _

_ I suppose we should talk. Last time we saw each other….We never really resolved anything. And now I’ve got a family of my own. You deserve some closure, though it took me a long time to forgive and realize that. If you want that too, my number is at the bottom of the letter. I really do want to talk. _

_ Yours,  _

_ James _

 

His hands are shaking by the end of it. Indeed, there is a phone number at the bottom of the page. The date of the letter is one month ago.

Steve finds his phone and misdials twice before the line starts to ring. 

Hearing Bucky’s voice again makes his own break. He’d grown up, grown darker and deeper in more ways than one. No longer was his love the charming, smirking small-town boy from all those years ago. That voice was smoother, a velvet richness made unfairly hollow by the miles of distance between them. 

“Buck-” He cuts himself off when his voice cracks with emotion. 

There’s a sharp inhalation on the other line. Only one person calls him that, Steve knows. Just the utterance of the name is enough introduction. 

“Steve.” It’s not a question, but a breath. Something shocked, soft enough to make heat trickle down Steve’s spine. It had been so long. His Bucky, his baby- though he knew he wasn’t allowed to think of him like that. Not anymore, but old habits were hard to kick. 

Steve realizes it’s his turn to speak again. “Hi, ba-” He catches himself before he uses an inappropriate endearment. “Bucky.” Hopefully, it just sounds like a stutter.

They’re both quiet, a little slow to get back into a familiar dialogue. Something happened to Bucky, he’s sure of that, to make him more reserved. It makes Steve hurt, anger bubbling up in his stomach. He asks to hear the story, to which Bucky sighs. 

“Maybe later….I need some time to gather my thoughts. I’d like-” there’s a pause. “Maybe you could meet with me.”

When Steve doesn’t respond, Bucky forges on. “I could tell you about it, you could-”

“Yeah.” The word comes out before he even thinks about it. “Please.” 

They agree to meet in Bucky’s new apartment- the one he shares with his expectant wife. When they say goodbye, Steve’s got butterflies of nerves in his stomach. Already, he wishes he could hear more of Bucky’s voice. It takes a good deal of concentration for him to not say that he had missed Bucky for five years straight and never moved on. 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The apartment complex is nice. Steve walks in, presses the button next to the little number 107 on the call box. There’s a sharp buzz, and then Steve’s allowed into the elevator. He fidgets, excited and ready. The place is all hardwood floors and overhead lights, far more expensive than Steve can afford himself. He briefly wonders where Bucky got the money.

The door’s already open when he approaches apartment 107. Still, he knocks, peering around the doorframe. 

In the kitchen, he’s standing there. The sun backlights his frame from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a striking difference between the fourteen-year-old Steve knows and loves and the nineteen-year-old man standing in this home. The first is his body- he’s tall, more muscled. He’d always had toned legs, a flat stomach; now, he looks closer to Steve’s build. His hair is long, almost hitting his clavicle. Rugged, almost. Older than his years. 

At the knock, he turns. The hair in his face falls away as he looks up and it’s so different from his old look. But his eyes are still gorgeous and blue and dark, maybe with a little stress line between his eyebrows. 

When he smiles, he is no longer a ghost of the boy Steve remembers.

“Hey, stranger.” 

His voice sounds even better than on the phone. 

Steve steps into the doorway and closes the door halfway behind him, unsure if they were expecting anyone else.

“Go ahead,” Bucky gestures. “Nat’s not coming back for a while, you can close it.”

He obeys and crosses over to the kitchen. Bucky opens his arms and pulls Steve in, hugging him tightly. This time, he doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes to reach him. 

In lieu of the sob he wants to let escape at the feeling, he gasps out, “Missed you.” 

“I know, d-” an audible pause. “Steve, me too.”

Bucky’s face is pressed up against his neck, but he can still hear the mistake. He ignores it for fear of ruining this chance he has. 

They sit. Bucky’s got a pot of coffee already brewed and hot, waiting for him. Steve sips at it to stall. 

“Nice place,” he settles on that after a few seconds. Bucky gives a kind of half smile and nods, looking down at his hands. 

“We can only afford it ‘cause we stole some money off ‘a Pierce. Don’t worry, he won’t notice.” He tacks on at Steve’s raised eyebrow. “Got enough to spare.”

There’s another moment of silence Steve isn’t sure how to fill. 

“Pierce. Never got his name until you wrote.”

Bucky sighs and sits back. “Yeah. Alexander Pierce. I guess I should tell you the story, right? That’s what you’re here for?” 

Noncommittal shrug. He’s here to see the person he’s loved for seven years of his life.

“It started in Kansas. He was following us, as you know, and you remember when you told me to go talk to him and find out where he was going? He promised he would give me a place to live and whatever life I wanted, and the freedom to choose my life. Said I should convince you to take us to California, right, and he’d follow. He said he’d get me away from you.”

I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I thought I did. When he picked me up, we drove for a few hours to his...mansion, I guess. It was more of a brothel, and kind of a center for human trafficking.”

Steve felt sick.

“He liked me. A lot. I mean, he’d driven cross country to get me, so he obviously wanted to hold on to me. I wasn’t sold, thank god, but he kept me as his own...his own slave. I was kept in a cell, except for the hours when he expected me to be by his side. He trained me to do whatever he wanted, and- and I did a lot of things for him. I’m not...I wish I didn’t….”

He broke off, eyes darting away. Taking in a deep breath, he continued. 

“Among tending to him, I was also expected to participate in his shows. I said the place was like a brothel, but I only ever had to fuck him and the other slaves that were there. These sleazy guys would come to watch, bring their own slaves to watch them get fucked. It was really sick, but I met Natasha there. 

She was eighteen at the time, and I was seventeen. We did a couple of Pierce’s shows together, and eventually she was moved into the cell next to mine. It took some time, but we figured out a plan to escape. I really couldn’t have done it without her, she...she’s amazing.

So, after a while of being on the outside, we realized that we were good together. And not just because of our...shared life experiences. It was kind of quick, but we got married, and I haven’t regretted it a day since.”

It takes several seconds for Steve to realize that was the end of his story. He’s trying to digest it all, but there was so much to unpack. Once he works through the story- he was to blame for all of the awful that had happened. He knows for sure now, no doubt in his mind. 

There’s a reason their relationship was illegal. Who was he to be so arrogant, who was he to think he was above the law? Bucky had been a child- incapable of being in an adult relationship. If Steve hadn’t come in and ruined his life….He’d still have had his mother. He would have stayed in school, maybe gone to college. And sure, those are things he doesn’t think Bucky values very much- but they were important to him. He should have at least had the opportunity for a normal life.

“I’m sorry.” He says. It’s all he feels he has the right to say.

“Steve.” Bucky scooches his chair closer, puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders. His chin is propped up on the right one, moving as he murmurs. “I’ve forgiven you, daddy.”

There it is. The name makes him suck in a sharp breath. “Please- I can’t-” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” He tucks his finger under Steve’s bearded chin and forces him to look at him. “You took care of me. It was bad, yeah, but at least I was askin’ for it. I thought I wanted to get away, but Pierce took advantage of that. You...you loved me. You took care of me, daddy. And I miss you.”

He wants. He wants so bad. 

“I still do.” Love him, he means. But he can’t say that. It’s not his place. 

Bucky sighs. “You know I can’t…”

“Yeah.” 

He’s opened up a lot more than he had on the phone. Steve would like to credit himself for that, but he can’t be sure. 

“I looked for you,” he tries to keep any accusation from his voice. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he was lost. 

“I’m sorry. Should’ve just stayed with you...and I thought about you all the time. Promise you.”

Everything he’s saying is so wrong- and he knows it. Steve was terrible to him, he knows that. Bucky was asking for that, but he was a  _ child _ . He wasn’t capable of consent, but Steve did it anyway. Bucky’s wrong, but Steve can’t bring himself to correct him. Maybe he hasn’t learned anything at all.

“You’re still so young,” Steve comments. “I can’t believe you’re...only nineteen.”

Bucky shrugs. It jostles Steve’s shoulder where his cheek is still rubbing against him. “I guess. But I’m still an adult. Do you not like it?” 

It takes a moment, but he gets what Bucky’s asking. He’s young, but not mentally. It must be difficult to think that Steve would still love him once he’s grown up- after the years of fucked up sex they had. But Steve’s sure he wasn’t just in love with Bucky because of his age. 

“I don’t care,” he mumbles. “Bucky, you could have come back to me when you were thirty, forty, fifty- I wouldn’t care.”  _ I’d still love you. _

There’s a moment that Bucky looks at him, and it would be so easy to lean forward an inch and let their lips touch. He wants another taste, just one, and he’s thinking about saying ‘screw it’ and just doing it. But he remembers the little family Bucky’s made for himself and how happy he is-

Steve’s happiness for him could never be untainted by his desire. 

“I have to go,” he blurts, right as Bucky’s eyes start to close. They snap open again, in confusion. “I- yeah, I really have to go.”

“Why?” Bucky still sounds like a petulant child to him, and he  _ really  _ needs to leave. “What’s wrong? Did I-”

“I just can’t- I’m sorry.” Steve jumps out of the chair, nearly knocking Bucky with his elbow in the process. “Sorry, I know you wanted- but I can’t.”

“Hey-” Bucky stands too, grabs him by the waist. He has the decency to look down bashfully, but doesn’t relinquish his grip. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I know that you didn’t come here for that- I should have…” he sighs. “I really don’t want you to leave because...what if I never see you again?”

Steve thinks that would kill him. Bucky would be fine, but Steve wouldn’t. Not now that he knows he’s happy without him. 

“I know it’ll take some time to find a new normal for us, but…” he continues like Steve wasn’t supposed to answer that question. He doesn’t want to share the honest answer anyway. “I think we could do it.”

Bucky’s hands are wrapped around his hips, tugging him in close. His forehead falls squarely on Steve’s sternum, and what is he supposed to do?  _ Not  _ wrap his arms around the love of his life to comfort him at least physically?

“Please don’t go,” he hears, muffled by his sweater. “Nat’s gonna be home eventually- you could meet her? Would that-”

“No.” It comes out sharper than he intends, and he feels the flinch it induces. “Not- not yet.”

Because if he stayed he’d see her come home and smile at Bucky and Bucky would smile back and they’d kiss and he’d hold her and- no. He can’t bear witness to that yet. 

“Does she know?” 

“Yeah.” 

Steve lets out a breath of- he doesn’t even know what. Exasperation? Fear? Frustration? 

“I trust her.” Bucky brings his arms up to rest around Steve’s neck, like they’re dancing in the kitchen with no music. “She ain’t gonna tell anyone and she’s not judgin’. Anymore. She came from a pretty shitty family too- it’s not like she hates you. She understands about forgivin’ and all that.”

Would she forgive Steve for still wanting to kiss her husband senseless? 

“Not yet,” Steve whispers and pulls away, forcing Bucky to let go of him. “Maybe someday, but not today. I really have to go.”

“Okay.” He looks sad, disappointed. Steve hates that he’s the one that put that expression on his pretty face. “Will- can I-”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Call me. We’ll do somethin’, sometime.”

He’s awkward, but he can’t help it.

“Okay,” Bucky repeats. They walk to the door, uncertain and self-pitying for different reasons. “See ya, Steve.”

“Bye, Buck,” he mumbles. They look at each other for a second before Bucky closes the door. 

It’s like he’s lost again. There’s not much he wants to do other than knock again and tell Bucky he’s changed his mind, and that he still loves him. Of course he does. But he knows letting the person you love go can be the best thing you can do for them, especially in his case. 

There is something else he can do for Bucky in the meantime, though. Now that he’s got a name and he remembers the face, he thinks he can find Pierce easily. 

First, he’s gotta get his hands on the right tools for the job. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to pop in and say that i appreciate all of the comments and kudos- i read every single one! here's a nice long chapter for ya!


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